


demonic musings

by mothermalfoy (MsLyraMalfoy)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, More like Pining, Oneshot, lots of pining, not quite ineffable husbands yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 07:05:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19329562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLyraMalfoy/pseuds/mothermalfoy
Summary: There are some truths too dangerous even to admit to himself, Crowley knows. Among them, his feelings for his angel. It's impossible to put it all into words.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A very short one shot (666 words to be nice and accurate). I'm not certain but I may want to add more of these little musings of Crowley's in future. Really just an excuse to dip my toes into the Good Omens fanfic scene.

He would never admit this to another living soul, hell even admitting it to himself was quite terrifying but, if he was as the angel said, a good person, Crowley knows it’s because of him. Spending the last four thousand years with an angel, that angel, in particular, would rub off on anyone, he’s sure of it. But that’s not entirely the truth. It’s painful to admit, not to mention potentially dangerous should the wrong sort find out but… he finds it rather hard to be truly evil thanks to Aziraphale. It’s not that the angel has swayed him against his better nature, more that, he hates the look of disappointment that crosses his angel’s face whenever he thinks Crowley has done something bad. No, hate isn’t nearly a strong enough of a word. He loathes it. To his very core. It devastates and infuriates him in equal measure. That sad, pitiable look that crosses his angel’s face whenever he thinks that Crowley’s done something evil. It’s the look, not of anger, but of disappointment. A look that says,  _I had so hoped for better for you._ There are few things Crowley despises more than disappointing his angel. The only other thing is any time he has seen the angel sad for any reason. It’s rare, thank Lucifer, but, it has been known to happen. And each and every time it has happened, Crowley has threatened to tear down heaven and Earth, and hell itself to see his angel smile once more. It isn’t hard to make his angel smile, thankfully, and though he tries not to think too much of it, the angel seems to do it an awful lot in his presence. Then again, he’s been known to smile in the presence of good food, wine, and frightfully adorable animals so, perhaps it’s best he not think too hard on it. Still. He loves to see him smile, in so much as a demon is capable of such emotions. He’s been trying to put into words his feelings for the angel for several millennia now and no words have ever seemed profound enough, to express his feelings for his angel. Though he does know that if anyone, almost especially the angel himself, were to find out about these feelings, it would mean his undoing. Hell would have him flayed, then have each piece of him separately tortured for the next billion years, before he was ultimately dispensed with altogether. And that was if he was lucky. He didn’t want to think about the horrors that awaited him should he be unlucky.  
It wasn’t as if it would matter anyway, Aziraphale didn’t return his affections, he had said as much himself, they were, “hereditary enemies,” he an angel, created from the image of the Almighty. And what a lovely image it was too. And Crowley, a foul beast cast into the pit, dragged up only to wreak havoc on Earth.   
Some days Crowley thought it might be easier to do his job properly, to do real evil so that he could stop pretending as though if he were only, not bad enough, his angel might return his affections. But then, as if a message from the Almighty herself, Aziraphale would make that face, and Crowley would find he would give anything never to have to see it again. It was easier, he had told himself, a few centuries alone, or perhaps, a few millennia. As much time as he could stand it. But then he would feel something, an aching pull in his gut that told him his angel was in trouble, and in a flash, Crowley could appear wherever his angel was to rescue him. And the smile he would receive in return never failed to take his breath away. It would be worth it, Crowley thought, to be captured and flayed in hell. If only he could see that smile on his angel’s face once more. It would be worth anything, he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Crying angels were definitely not Crowley’s specialty. He had experienced it, only on a handful of occasions, and in each of them, the two of them had been pissed out of their skulls. In those instances, it was always because Crowley had done something inexplicably (to himself anyway) kind for the angel, and the angel had begun blubbering something about, “Y-you’re such a good friend.” Crowley would always be quick to brush him off. It wouldn’t do for hell’s most popular demon to be seen as  _good_  in any way, shape, or form. He could excuse it, however, because they were both intoxicated. 

But these were not tears of intoxication. These were tears of devastation, the tears of a man broken. Of an angel who had just been told he had been cast out,  _for_   _him_.   
Crowley swallowed, trying to come up with the words that would soothe his angel's sorrows, only nothing came to mind.  _It’s not so bad, once you get used to it,_  Crowley had told him once; his mind reminded him of this now and Crowley groaned to himself.  _Idiot_! He’d meant it to be funny, but now, Aziraphale was actually facing damnation. He had done nothing wrong, save refusing to end their friendship, and Aziraphale was now facing expulsion from heaven. He sighed. A part of him, larger than he’d like to admit, wanted to be happy about it. Aziraphale had chosen him over heaven itself, that had to mean something, didn’t it? Crowley rubbed slow soft circles into the angel’s back as he sobbed into Crowley’s shoulder.  _I hate this more than seeing him disappointed,_  Crowley decided. An angel, his angel, should never ever sob for any reason. Especially not for him. Sucking in a deep breath, Crowley pulled away from his angel, staring into his distraught face from behind his thick black sunglasses, and sighed. “I think maybe they were right,” he said quietly.  
Aziraphale looked up at that, his eyes were red and puffy from crying, and the sight broke Crowley’s heart more than he could possibly say. “Excuse me?”   
“Your boss, Gabriel, was right,” Crowley said, bile rose in his throat at the words. “We… we shouldn’t be friends anymore. This was a mistake.”   
Aziraphale’s eyes lowered into a glare, the first one Crowley had ever seen grace his features in the entire six thousand years they had been friends. He would have been proud, in any other circumstance. As it was, it felt more like a dagger in his chest. “I GAVE UP… H-HEAVEN FOR YOU YOU UNGRATEFUL BASTARD!” Aziraphale yelled. Crowley cringed but remained silent. “I HAVE FALLEN! THEY WON’T JUST TAKE ME BACK AFTER THIS! I DON’T GET TO UNDO THIS DECISION!” he growled. Crowley merely shrugged, the small action only served to infuriate Aziraphale further. “THAT’S ALL I GET?! A BLOODY SHRUG AS IF… THE LAST SIX THOUSAND BLOODY YEARS MEANT NOTHING?!” he demanded.  
Crowley poured himself a tumbler of whiskey; the glass exploded in his hand almost immediately sending whiskey and shards of glass across the room and down his trousers.  _Bugger_.   
“You’re lucky I didn’t discorporate you, you shit!” Aziraphale growled.   
Crowley sighed, “You said it yourself…”   
“Oh, do shut up!” Aziraphale replied with a snort. “Do you honestly think me such a fool that I would fall for that?”   
“Er… what?” Crowley stared at the angel, who merely rolled his eyes looking particularly perturbed.   
“You’re a terrible liar Crowley, ironically, for a demon.”   
Crowley merely stared at him blankly. “You take that back!” he snapped.   
Aziraphale merely smirked, miracling himself a glass of wine, “Shan’t,” he said haughtily. “You’re a terrible liar, we have been together for six thousand years, surely you don’t think I wouldn’t know how to read you by now? Your shoulders were practically quivering,” he said taking a sip of his wine. Crowley sighed, pulling off his sunglasses, and pinching the bridge of his nose. He fell onto the couch with a groan.   
“I don’t want you to give up heaven, for me,” Crowley replied. “I’m not…” he trailed off. The angel gave him a stern look and sighed, putting down his wine and climbed into the demon’s lap.   
“That is where you are very wrong Crowley, you are absolutely worth it,” he replied, leaning down to kiss the top of the demon’s nose. “If heaven can’t see that, that’s their loss.”   
Crowley looked up at the angel in awe.  _How could he possibly worthy of such a perfect creature?_ Aziraphale grinned.   
“Might I kiss you properly?” he asked kindly. Crowley chuckled,  _ah_ ,  _that’s_   _how_ , he thought, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, he nodded, and pulled him in for a proper kiss. Proper as dictated by a number of debaucherous centuries spent in Rome, and Paris, and Greece, and India. The angel groaned into his mouth as Crowley deepened the kiss, adding a bit of tongue. He paused, remembering the angel’s words, y _ou go too fast for me Crowley,_  and pulled back. Aziraphale moaned, chasing his lips. “Why did you stop?” he asked.   
“Didn’t want to go too fast for you,” the demon replied.   
Aziraphale chuckled, “I’ve come to like fast over the last half-century,” he admitted with a slight blush.   
“Is that so?” Crowley grinned, pushing the angel onto his back on the couch, and climbed on top of him. “Well in that case,” he said with a smirk, “I think I might have some interesting ideas for us to try out,” he purred in the angel’s ear. Aziraphale gasped and blushed at the feeling of the other man’s body against his own. Crowley smiled, leaning in and sucking on his throat, the angel gasped. It was all at once too fast and not nearly fast enough, but he didn’t want it to stop, the demon’s deft fingers roamed over any and every inch of exposed skin wherever he could find it, sending shivers up the angel’s spine. He was suddenly feeling things he had never imagined possible before. His entire being felt a glow, unlike anything he had ever experienced either on Earth or in heaven. There was unimaginable tension building within him, pleasure and joy all at once, and something he couldn’t quite describe. He knew vaguely about human sexuality, but this was apart of humanity that he had never before allowed himself to experience. As an angel pleasure was a complex thing. Even eating, while pleasurable and enjoyable to Aziraphale, was a pantomime of the human experience. It was never real, not like this was. This was a building pleasure, moving towards euphoria and ecstasy, words he had only heard described or read about in books but had never before experienced. Crowley’s impossibly hot flesh on his suddenly exposed skin nearly made the angel jump. Goosebumps lined his flesh, and the pleasure he had been experiencing was building to impossible heights. He hoped he’d never have to come down off this high. Crowley’s lips moved down his throat, and down his chest, and a new wave of pleasure overtook the angel then.  _Was this what it was like to be human_? He wondered.  _Or_   _even_ ,  _a_   _demon_? He didn’t think he was officially a demon, but human seemed reasonable enough. Crowley’s tongue swirled exquisitely over the angel’s chest and Aziraphale let out a soft gasp of pleasure. His body trembled underneath the demon’s touch, he wasn’t even sure when his clothes had vanished or whether it had been his or the demon’s doing, but he didn’t care. He needed it to continue, all of it.   
Warm lips dotted his chest, making their way downwards, Aziraphale’s eyes widened, he wasn’t entirely certain where this was going, only that his human body had come with certain, attachments, the exact purpose of which beyond procreation Aziraphale was hazy on. He was fairly certain he had no use for them, or at least he hadn’t for the last six thousand years or so; yet as the demon worked his way down his body Aziraphale found this particular part of himself most especially interested. Crowley grinned up at him, “Just relax angel, I’ve got you,” he said. Aziraphale smiled down at him, he wasn’t sure what it was Crowley was about to do, but something told him that it would be best to trust the demon. He was, after all, well versed in all the arts of pleasure. Aziraphale gasped,  _it was going to be a very interesting evening, studying with the master,_ he thought.


End file.
